Not So Close to Home: The 96th Annual Hunger Games
by defygravity314
Summary: Its 20 years after Katniss' last games and there's a whole new group of bloodthirsty tributes ready to fight for their lives. All new tributes from all 12 districts. A fun read with lots of twists! Review!
1. Tribute List

96th Annual Hunger Games by defygravity314

**DISCLAIMER: My name is not Suzanne Collins. Therefore, I do not own the Hunger Games! I am also not an adult, and therefore I further reinstate the fact that I do not own the Hunger Games.**

Here is a list of the tributes:

District One:  Fez DeLanko and Mintersha "Mint" Spite

District Two: Finn Greshald and Annaleigh McCrow

District Three:  Jackson Gallati and Nyla Brusche

District Four:  Samson Chung and Marina Valdecucci

District Five:  Axel Sigmund and Ivy Spitfire

District Six: Noah Petrusse and Cami Ashgood

District Seven:  Peter Stripesend and Bruna Calendula

District Eight:  Benjamin Blake and Logan Callister

District Nine:  Jason Kamik and Delaney Moore

District Ten:  William Crowell and Nadia Dolan

District Eleven:  Cole LaRusse and Elizabeth "Lizzie" Arden

District Twelve:  Jonathan Neese and Celia Douglas

**Note: All those who are killed throughout these games were picked at random from my incredibly stylish hat that I got at JC Penney :)**

Let the games begin!


	2. District One Reapings

**Chapter One: District 1 Reapings**

_Fez DeLanko and Mintersha "Mint" Spite_

_**FEZ:**_

When I woke up, my sheets were drenched in sweat and my pillow felt sticky and warm. My arms and legs had ridge-like imprints from the grooves in my mattress and my face was red and clammy. Quickly, I got myself out of bed- but too fast. In a split second the world seemed to spin like a kaleidoscope of a million rainbow-like Capital colors. Just then, my young sister Katrina came in, her nose wrinkled in agony.

Let's just stay that my room is no Yankee Candle.

Her voice all nasally, Katrina squeaked, "F-Fez, mama says you gotta get dressed." She turned to leave and I glanced at the clock.

"What for? It's only 9:30 and it's a Saturday."

"C'mon, Fez," she whimpered. "It's reaping day." Katrina seemed put out although her face had 'anxious' written all over it. Today was her twelfth birthday. Her first reaping.

"Alright, well tell Mom I'll be down in a sec," I said, scanning my room for any nice-ish clothes that weren't in a smelly heap on the floor. Finally I selected a goofy pink and orange sweater vest to wear over a purple blouse and white khakis. My mother was a fashion designer in partnership with the Capitol and often left my sister and I whatever the Capital didn't want. Fads that never were. Hence the crazy colors that I would otherwise never wear.

I glanced at the clock. 9:46. Only 14 more minutes until the reaping. No words can describe how much I didn't want to be chosen. Being 17, it was my last year in the running and I truly didn't plan to break my not-being-picked streak anytime soon.

Upon one last shout to 'get my butt downstairs' from my mother, I grabbed a granola bar and rushed out the door behind my sister.

The day was cold and dry but the sunlight bouncing off of all the colorful domes was enough to make even an ice cube melt.

I looked forward into the town center as we approached it and I noticed that the bulk of the people had already arrived. After bidding farewell to my mother and sister, I quickly filed along with a couple other kids my age into our designated section. I sat down on the oddly shaped folding chairs and grunted. I swear, these things are purposefully designed to make the user uncomfortable.

I shifted my position and crossed my legs just as the clock on the District Capitol Building struck 10. Suddenly an all-too-perky Capitol Woman, our district's escort, bounced onto the stage. Her unfortunately pear-shaped body was tinted a light metallic blue and her frizzy hair was a vibrant shock of orange.

"Welcome, one and all, and you two future tributes out there," she squealed, smacking her bright green lips. "It sure is just a splendiferous day, now isn't it?"

The general response from the audience was a series of groans and half-hearted, sarcastic chuckles.

"Well, I think it is. And you should too. You should all be proud to represent District One here today. You are the future victors of Panem." Her smile faltered a tad as the audience collectively heaved a big sigh.

"With that, let's just cut to the chase," she said with an exaggerated lisp. Her crisp, perfect nails caressed the papers in the large, translucent bowl beside her.

"Representing District 1 in the 96th annual Hunger Games is our lovely male tribute…"

I held my breath. I squinted my eyes and noticed that some of the ink on the slip of paper had bled through, revealing far too many letters to spell my name. That is, unless…

"Fezwald DeLanko."

….it was my full name.

_**MINT:**_

When Fez's name was called, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Even if I was chosen, which I prayed not to be, I could beat Fez any day. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my purple and yellow striped dress and straightened the bow in my hair. It was my fourth year in the drawing and every year I was more prepared than the last. My family prided themselves on a rich Hunger Games history. Twenty some-odd years ago, my mother's sister, Glimmer, died in the games. But she didn't go down without a fight, and neither would I. As I watched Fez nervously skitter up onto the stage, I had nearly convinced myself that this would be the year in which I was to be called.

"And the female tribute is… Ms. Mintersha Spite."

I hopped out of my seat and jogged up onto the stage. I caught a glimpse at Fez and whispered, "Just smile and wave, boy. Smile and wave."

He looked at me hostility and hissed, "You're goin' down, Mint. Just like your stupid aunt."

As if on cue, our escort giggled,

"May the odds be _ever _in your favor!"


	3. District Two Reapings

**Chapter 3: District Two Reapings**

_Finn Greshald and Annaleigh McCrow_

_**Annaleigh:**_

I felt the wind sting my face as I bounded towards The Nut. My mother, who works in the quarries, had just given me a message to relay to my father. It was the perfect excuse to take my favorite running path. My muscles bulged and I had hardly broken a sweat before I came up upon one of the main entrances to the Nut, built carefully into the steep mountainside. As I was just about to punch in the code to open the big steel doors, the military loudspeaker came on, warning all those between ages 12 and 17 that the reaping would take place in thirty minutes. Crap. I forgot all about the reaping.

I quickly etched my mother's message onto a sticky note and stuck it under the door. Hopefully my dad would see it when he left for his lunch break.

I bounded home to meet my little brother at the front gate.

"Oooooh! You're laaaate!" he whined, giving me the evil eye. "I'm a tell momma on you."

Unfazed, I replied, "Sure, go ahead, bro. Let's watch her ground me for getting home after running an errand for her." I walked through the door and could feel my brother's frustration.

I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and swung a sharp left into my room. I quickly dressed into a smart white blouse with black pants and loafers before returning downstairs. My mom was there to greet me at the door, her face grimy with quarry dust and sweat.

"We're leaving in five minutes, Annaleigh. Just give me some time to…wash up," she mumbled, passing me on the stairs.

"Sure thing, momma. See you in a bit."

I sighed. My family was chronically late, and knowing my mom, she wasn't just going to 'wash up'. She was probably going to sneak out the back window, go to the salon and get her hair done, a pore cleansing, and both a manicure AND a pedicure. Considering she's such a beauty queen, it's pretty surprising that she chose to work in the quarries over working inside the nice clean, sterile Nut.

Sure enough, my mom returned a half hour later looking as perfect as ever. By now it was 10:02. We were leaving two minutes late as it is, and the town center was a ten minute walk from here.

As we came up upon the town square I saw one of my schoolmates, Finn Greshald, already on the stage. He looked like he was going to thro- all of a sudden a waterfall of yellow gunk spewed out of his mouth. Nobody seemed to notice. The District escort mouthed something I couldn't quite make out. Once I came within earshot, I heard my name called.

"Annaleigh McCrow."

"What? Oh, me?" I asked. Perhaps they were taking attendance- although I knew the truth. My name had just been reaped.

"Has anybody seen Annaleigh McCrow?"

I looked desperately at my mother, whose perfect eyes were welling up, and then across the square. Not one volunteer. Solemnly, I mumbled, "I'm here," and shuffled up onto the stage.

_**FINN:**_

All I remember was my name being called and then the world suddenly turning yellow and smelling really bad. Can you go back to Annaleigh now? I need some more Ibuprofen.

_**ANNALEIGH:**_

I stood next to Finn, who was heaving every few seconds, trying to put on a brave face for my brother.

I was a tribute.

I was dead.


	4. District Three Reapings

**Chapter Four: District Three Reapings**

_Jackson Gallati and Nyla Brusche_

_**JACKSON:**_

I stared at the device and read the label. "Apple iPad", I read discerningly. What a piece of junk.

"Dad, why on Earth would you want to keep such an old thing?" I asked. "It's _sooo_ not state of the art."

"I know," my dad replied. "But it was your great-great-great-grandfather's. It's a family heirloom."

I looked at the iPad again. It was just a thick, boxy…thing with a touchscreen. No holographs. Nothing like what we make here in District 3. And what kind of piece of electronic equipment has buttons? And can hold _only _32 gigs? How anybody, like, three hundred years ago could've thought this thing was cool is beyond me.

I sighed and glanced at the clock. It was just seven minutes until the reaping.

Seemingly reading my thoughts, my dad said, "Son, you should probably get yourself dressed. The reaping is today, you know." He smiled, turned the iPad on, and started playing some sort of stupid game called Angry Birds. These people seriously had no lives back then.

I bolted upstairs and changed into a suit and tie. Nothing too fancy. I returned downstairs to see my father waiting with my mother at the door. The two of them were mesmerized, shouting, "DIE! DIE! DIE!" and flinging bird after bird at the evil green pigs.

Sighing, I opened the door and, turning the iPad off, I led my parents into the town square, where the reaping was about to start. I bid them farewell and then paraded off with the other kids into our age group seating areas.

Almost as soon as we sat down, our district escort, Jacques LeBlanc, strolled onto the stage, adjusting his handlebar moustache.

"Bonjour, District Three," he said with a thick French accent. "And welcome to the 96th Annual Hunger Games Reaping! I hope you're all as excited as I am." He said this so flatly it was almost funny. He waited for the crowd to settle before sticking his hand inside one of the bowls and speaking again.

"Now, for the male tribute, we have… Mr. Jackson Gallati."

I was stunned. I was only 14.

I was not ready to die.

_**NYLA:**_

Jackson jerked upright, his face expressionless but turning red from the effort he need to keep it that way. He looked terrified- too scared to show emotion. To scared to even beg for volunteers. Anything.

I looked next to me at my twin sister, Lyla. She looked at me nervously. My sister is in a wheelchair after her legs were paralyzed in an accident with electrocution four years ago, when were were 11. My parents begged and pleading for her name to be taken out of the drawing, but I guess a kid with no arms competed in one of the Games, so they refused.

Sure enough, with my families' luck, her name was called.

"The female tribute is…eh, Ms. Lyla Brusche." Her faced paled and she dug her head into mine, tears flowing out like a waterfall. Before she could even wheel herself all the way up to the stage, I took no time to contemplate the consequences of what I was about to say.

"I volunteer!"

Oooh, shoot. Why did I say that? I smiled nervously at my sister, whose color had returned to her face, and stiffly walked up onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the District 3 tributes!"


	5. District Four Reapings

**Chapter Five: District Four Reapings**

_Samson Chung and Marina Valdecucci_

_**SAMSON:**_

"GIVE ME THE MOP! I CALLED THE MOP!"

The orphanage was havoc that morning as everyone fought over who got to use the good mop to clean the bathroom. That's right.

We were fighting over a mop.

I slowly backed away from the chaos and into the room that I shared with my two younger biological brothers, Raymond and Paul. The two of them sat quietly on the bed, busily crafting the one hundred fish-hooks they had been assigned to make as a consequence for trying to sneak an extra plate of bacon at breakfast.

You could say our orphanage is strict, but that might be an understatement. Luckily we _are_District Four, so fishing is our specialty.

I sat town next to my brothers and started to help them.

"Hey, Samson?"

I turned to look at my little brother and became sad. He looked so much like my mom. I cleared my throat and met his eyes.

"What's up, Paul?"

"Well, if we make a few extra hooks, can we go fishing during break time?"

Raymond jolted up. "Yeah! That will be fun! Please?"

I went to respond. "Well, I…"

"Please?"

"I don't kn.."

"Please?"

"Can you jus.."

"Please?"

It went on like this for quite some time until I finally took a deep breath and blurted a big long, rambling rant in one breath. Finally I gasped and desperately mumbled,

"_Please!"_

Phewf. There was an awkward silence during which I genuinely thought that my brothers had registered and understood what I had just said. But sure enough, Raymond piped up again.

"Please?"

I sighed and decided to ignore them. I got dressed into a nice sweater and jeans and then headed downstairs to join the line of kids who were eligible for the reaping. After a quick head out, we marched, military style, out the door and down the street. It was then that I realized I never said goodbye to my brothers.

_**MARINA**_

The family car passed the perfect lines of those poor orphanage kids as we were heading down to the reaping. As we came up upon the square and parked alongside the curb, I hopped out and adjusted by shirt collar so that it was perfectly aligned with my belt buckle. I kissed my mom and dad goodbye and ran with my older sister to our designated seating areas. I sat next to my best friend, Caraline.

"Hey, Cara, 'sup?" I asked, getting her attention.

"Oh!" she jumped. "Didn't see you there, Marina. Sorry." She blushed.

I was about to respond when the speaker came onto the stage. Reception from the microphone hit all of our ears in one big shriek and we settled down.

"Goooood morning, District Four," the escort said, far too cheerfully. "And how are all of us this morning?"

In my peripheral vision I saw the orphanage kids arrive, filing into their seats.

"I know, it's a Monday. Nobody likes Mondays," she said, trying to lighten our spirits. The square was silent.

"Well, then, I guess I'll get to the reaping now." Her smile turned to a frown as she struggled to fit her fat wrists through the hole. After an attendant lathering it with Vaseline, she easily slipped her wrist inside and picked a name.

"Alrightie, now. The boy's tribute representing District Four Is… Samson Chung. Samson? You here?"

I spun around to look for this mysterious Samson. He sat up from the 13 year old section and woefully wandered up onto the stage. I was so busy feeling bad for him that I didn't even notice my name had been called until the entire crowd was shouting, "MARINA!"

I blushed, embarrassed, and then skittered up to the stage. But that was when reality set in.

I am a tribute. I am in the Hunger Games. I am going to die.

Then the whole world went black.


	6. District Five Reapings

**Chapter Six: District Five Reapings**

_Axel Sigmund and Ivy Spitfire_

_**IVY:**_

Note to self: Never mix ammonia with bleach.

As soon as the smoke clears, I can picture perfectly in my head what I must look like- my face charred with ash except for the areas where I had my protective glasses on, my hair straight up in an electric shock.

My hands, shaken from the explosion, shake and drop the two beakers to the floor, causing them to break and sparking an eerie mist that marks its descent. I sigh as much as I can with my newly-burnt lungs and cough up another ash cloud as I try to make my way to my room.

Once in, I see the clock. Only 17 minutes until the reaping, yet the house is eerily silent. I take a peek downstairs through the grand French doors and see my mom napping on the sofa. My father sits in the corner reading the newspaper, and my little sister plays with blocks at his feet.

On any other normal Saturday our house would be bustling either with visiting family or just the normal weekend errands. But not today- today is special.

Today is the reaping.

I quickly dart back upstairs and change into a loose, over-the-shoulder tunic and a pair of brown leggings. I grab my shoulder back with my chemical set carefully stowed inside and pad down the stairs, hoping to sneak outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air before the reaping.

I slide the window at the base of the stairs, careful not to push it to the point of squeaking, and meander my slender bodily out onto the front porch. I trot down the stairs, onto the sidewalk…

And nearly bang into my neighbor, Axel. He looks as if he wants to kill someone.

_**AXEL:**_

I feel like I want to kill someone.

_**IVY:**_

"S-sorry, Axel," I mumble, greatly intimidated. Axel is four years older than me, seventeen, yet he looks as if he could be a member of some sort of pro-wrestling team. He is big and burly, with shadowy features that force you to take a second glance before you can take him all in. Only about half of him can be seen in the average persons' line of vision.

That's how gigantic he is.

The ruckus outside caused my parents to stir, and I see my mom tiredly peek through the curtains. Seconds later she is at the door, bathrobe and curlers and all, ushering me inside. I blush, hiding my face so that Axel can't see my reaction, and hurry inside. I wave goodbye to him and come back inside, greatly appreciating the shock of Central Air that was there to meet me.

"Where did you think you were going?" My mom asks in between yawns.

"Um…I wanted to get some air before the reaping. Clear my thoughts."

"Ivy," my mom snaps, put out, "the reaping isn't until…"

Her face transforms.

"Oh, shoot. It's at eleven, isn't it?"

"Um…yeah."

My mom goes into a useless swearing-throwing things frenzy and then bolts upstairs to change. While she was doing all of this my dad has already calmly changed into a nice polo shirt, gone to the bathroom, shaved, fed my sister lunch, changed her diaper, and gotten her dressed.

The three of us wait in silence at the door as we listen to mom's ruckus upstairs.

Finally she clonks downstairs in obnoxious stilettos and her little black dress. I shield my eyes .

"Mom, seriously?" Mom in a cocktail dress is not a pretty sight.

"The reaping is a very serious event. So yes, seriously," she remarks, throwing the door open.

"Now are we going or not?"

_**AXEL:**_

My family trails behind Ivy's on the way to the reaping. This is my last year in the drawing, but since we were short on food, my name was entered triple times then its normally supposed to you. I've already been mentally preparing myself for the Arena for days.

My mother looks at me sadly and then ushers the family- all six kids not including herself, out the door. We're tightly bundled up; it's really cold.

We all walk in silence for a few blocks, hang a right, and then patrol into the town center. I bid farewell to my mom, who is already crying, and venture over to the 17- year old section.

"Good morning, everyone," a plain man in suspenders says flatly. Great, I think. We've got the dopey, nerdy escort.

"I will now choose the boy tribute." He robotically throws his skinny hand inside of the bowl and grasps one paper.

"Axel Sigmund. Congratulations. Ha. Ha. Ha." I swear, this guy must be some sort of Capitol robot.

"And now for the girl tribute." More robotic shuffling. His hand inside the fishbowl looks like one of those claw arcade games where you try to grab the teddy bear or candy or whatever is inside.

"Ivy Spitfire."

_**IVY**_

Say whaaaat? I smile and wave nervously as I half run, half fall onto the stage. I look at Axel and his signature look of bloody murder softens into that of sheer sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Ive," he whispers. "Allies?"

"Allies."


	7. District Six Reapings

**Chapter Seven: District Six Reapings**

_Noah Petrusse and Cami Ashgood_

**A/N: Okay. I know that nobody likes author's notes. But here's the deal: not much is mentioned about District Six and its primary resource, i.e. lumber like 7 or fishing like 4, is unknown. So I just kind of made it an average-ish district as I did with the last chapter. I did mention District 6's seemingly obsessive nature over morphling, however. So, with that, I'm sorry for the insanely short chapter. Enjoy, and please R & R!**

_**NOAH:**_

The cool tinge of morphling hits my tongue and I sigh with satisfaction. This stuff is _amazing._

I recline back on my bed and turn it on to find reruns of the last quarter quell playing. Great. I tune in just in time to see someone being beheaded.

I turn the TV set off and lazily glance at my clock- only thirteen minutes until the reaping. I got up, snorted another shot of morphling and changed into my favorite pink polo shirt. My mom says it makes me look like a flamingo, but in my opinion it takes a real man- a hardcore man- to wear pink.

My mom sighs when she sees me walk downstairs in the shirt, but rolls her eyes, dismissing the thought, and hands me a glass of orange juice.

"G'morning, sleepy head," she said. "I thought I heard you blowing your nose upstairs before but I guess it was just me. Just in case, here's some good 'ol Vitamin C to clear your sinuses." She smiled and gestured for me to take the glass.

"Th-thanks mom," I mumble, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice from the morphling. My mom doesn't suspect a thing.

Let's keep it that way.

Within a few minutes my mom and I were out the door and on our way to the town circle.

_**CAMI:**_

"Dad?"

"Yes, hon?"

"Why do we have the reapings? They look so cool on TV but actually going to them is a whole 'nother story." I sigh. My family recently moved to six from the Capitol to move in and care for my ailing grandmother. Since I'm not an official citizen of six…yet…I had assumed that I would be exempt from the drawing this year.

But, of course, as you can probably tell, I'm in this year.

And I'm not too happy about it. So, naturally I continue to pester my father.

"Dad?"

"Dad?"

"Dad?"

"Dad?"

"Dad?"

Eventually I get tired of being ignored and decide to try the same tactic on my mother. It doesn't work.

I soon relent and venture upstairs to change into my favorite top and shirt from the capitol. The soft shade of green nicely compliments my skin, which I had tinted a light magenta color last spring. I tie my Barbie-doll pink hair into a tidy bun and zip downstairs where my parents and little brother, dressed in their Capitol best, are waiting.

_**NOAH:**_

The circle is jam packed with what seems like thousands of attendees, all centered around the central fountain. Our district escort, who looks like they are in a hurry, bustles onto the stage looking flustered.

"Um, hi," they say, trying to catch their breath. They continue through the typical long, drawn-out introduction of the reaping and a brief history of the games before bringing out the bowls.

That was when I fainted.

I woke up on the stage with about a bagillion cameras in my face and a cold ice-pack on my head. Next to me stood a hysterical Cami who was being comforted by her parents. Her silly capitol accent rang over and over in my ears until I just couldn't take it anymore.

"So are we going to face our deaths or not?"


	8. District Seven Reapings

**Chapter Eight: District Seven Reapings**

_Peter Stripesend and Bruna Calendula_

_**PETER:**_

"Hiiiiyaaaah!"

I screech like a banshee as I dig my axe into the tender, moist wood of the stump.

"Take that you stupid tree!"

Woodchips and sawdust fly in a frenzy around my face as I hack relentlessly at what was once the sturdy, proud base of a magnolia in full bloom.

"Making any headway, Pete?" I spin on my heels at the sound of my name, nearly whacking my overseer in the kneecaps. Embarrassed, I toss the axe to the side.

"Ouch! Hey, watch it kid!" I look to the side and see one of the other workers, Walt Hanham, clutching at his bleeding thighs.

"Oops," I mumbled, awkwardly sliding away. "Clumsy me."

I turned back to my boss. His face was illuminated with laughter which he quickly shifted to a look of forced discontent.

"Now,Peter…" he said sternly. I held my breath for the inevitable punishment and noticed that my overseer's face was flushing gradually pinker. He knelt down at my side so the rest of the workers in the lumberyard couldn't hear.

"I'm…I'm sorry. But that was priceless."

I beam at my boss as he hurriedly leaves the scene to tend to Walt.

Just then, the lunch bell rings and the cacophony of hundreds of axes and saws hits my ears with a loud, sheer "Cha CHING!" Just as I'm about to slip off my protective glasses and wipe the sweat off of my brow, the shrill sound of the loudspeaker coming to life causes us all to stop in our tracks.

"Attention, attention," a husky voice rumbles. "All employees between the ages of twelve and seventeen, kindly report to the front cabin. Thank you and enjoy your lunch," he said unconvincingly.

_What could this possibly be about? _I ponder. The facial expressions of the other kids my age are painted the same. Slowly but surely, we cautiously venture to the Warden's cabin.

Upon arrival we notice a large mob of kids who have already arrived from the other lumber yards. Collectively our curious interrogations and outbursts form one big discordant drone. All of a sudden, my overseer steps onto the porch with a megaphone. He gives me a quick wink and his signature twitchy smile before turning it on.

"Attention! Hello!" Frustrated, he presses the 'horn' button and it cripples us all to the point where we can barely get a word out.

"In conjunction with the second verse of the third amendment to our District rulebook, the reaping has been hereby moved to today, since tomorrow is National President Snow Rules So Ha Ha You Can't Do Anything About It…" he takes a deep breath and wipes his brow. "Day."

His assistant Marcia takes over. "Alright, can you please form one orderly line?"

I sigh. My very first reaping and I don't even have the chance to get dressed into something decent and spend the day with my family.

We all shuffle together into a 'line' that looks more like a big blob of macaroni and cheese, and then clumsily begin our descent down the mountain where the lumberyards are and into the town center.

Bored, my thoughts begin to wander. I get ahead of myself and start imagining what the arena must be like… but then a girl no older than 15 prancing around her mother like an exasperated chicken catches my eye.

_**BRUNA:**_

"Honey, you need to stop this. You look like an exasperated chicken."

Annoyed, I change my actions so I look more like a constipated whale shark.

"PLEASE, mom?"

I follow her eye to see that she is looking into space in the direction of the lumberyard kids. I wave my hand in front of her face and she turns back to me.

"Honey, no. I'm sorry."

For the past half hour I have been begging my mom, who is the district escort for us, to take my name out of the drawing. I don't want to have to deal with the arena or the drama it brings. I may be fifteen and my name is only entered a couple of times but I cannot afford to take the chance.

"Brunadette. That's not just. It's against the rules."

"My name is Bruna, mom. Brunadette sounds like the name of some farmer's cancerous goat."

With that my mother ignored me, grabbed her purse, and began heading down the hill. I had no choice but to follow her. What with the way I was galloping down the hill I'm sure I looked like a pregnant draft horse. What is it with me and my actions looking worse than they do in my head?

"Moooom?" I nearly follow her onto the stage.

"Do we have a volunteer for a tribute already?" She asks, already with her camera face on. The crowd laughs en masse and I blush, withdrawing myself into the shadows.

"Actually, we do," a voice arises from the midst of the crowd. A twelve year old, lanky boy with shaggy dishwater-colored hair bolts up, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He tries to sit down put is propped up again by his friends.

_**PETER:**_

I look desperately down at my friends and then towards where the voice came from.

Walt.

"Payback time," he grins. "This is for the axe."

I barely move as he picks me up, bridal style, and sets me on the stage.

"Well, then," chitters the escort, "I guess we have our male tribute!"

I try to run off of the stage only to be stopped by the Capitol guards.

"Sorry, bub," they say. "Once you're up there's no coming down. Deal with it." I collapse my head into my hands and hear Brunadette Calendula's estranged whimper as her name is called.

The salty taste of tears burns my mouth as I start losing my breath.

This is the end.


	9. District Eight Reapings

**Chapter Nine: District Eight Reapings**

_Benjamin Blake and Logan Callister_

**A/N: Okay, I'm warning you, this chapter is a bit…eccentric. Let's just say the District 8 Tributes are very **_**interesting **_**people. But I had a lot of fun writing about them, and I hope you get a laugh or two out of the characters. Enjoy and remember to R & R! This is my first Fanfic so DON'T JUDGE ME! :)**

_**BENJAMIN:**_

Waking up in the morning to the refreshing sound of my fabulous, perfect even breaths and the picturesque image of my perfect body is just… awesome.

Because I'm awesome! _Duh!_

I look down at my pinstriped pajamas direct from the Capitol. It's still perfectly ironed.

I smooth out my shaggy dark brown hair. Still silky-smooth!

I hop out of bed, my perfectly tender feet landing softly on my perfectly ruffled carpeted floor. The cloth used for the carpet is perfectly awesome.

Because I made it. And I'm awesome.

Do you DARE object? I have the power to turn your very existence into mush!

I open my perfect door and turn the handle just enough so that I can easily…and flawlessly… slip into the hallway.

Which is far less awesome than I.

I slip downstairs into the dining room where my father is waiting for me with some pancakes that look alright but not as good as they would look if I had made them.

"Hey dad," I say, yawning in between bites of chocolate chip pancakes. "A little undercooked this morning, but not bad."

I eat the pancakes, however disgusting they are, to please him. He's nowhere near as cool as me, or as nice as me, or kind and brave…but I'd never tell him that.

Aren't I just fabulous?

"Son," he says in his creepy I'm-going-to-eat-you evil scientist voice, "today is the reaping, you know."

"Oh, _daddy,_" I gasp. "Isn't it just sad? Poor innocent little children being thrown to their deaths? What a pity, such a pity…"

I wipe a tear away from my sparkling green eyes before he can reply.

"Son, that could be you one day you know. You're only sixteen." I dismiss my father's insanely rude comment that was obviously meant to blandish my unblemished ego and then hear the door bell ring.

"I'll get it, dear father," I say. "I wouldn't want you to strain your back again."

He looked at me quizzically and I know why; he never has back problems. But this is yet another example of my acute humility. I open the door, which is much dirtier than I, to see the face of my mother.

"Helloooo, mother dearest. And how was your coffee with Jane this morning?" Every weekend my mother goes to breakfast with her girlfriends from college.

"The coffee was absolutely horrible, my dear son," she said, picking me up and sweeping me across the room. "But I didn't want to let Jane down. I drank the vile syrup with a smile on my face."

As you can see, my mom is perfect.

But not as perfect as me.

My dad sighed and flipped a few more pancakes onto a separate plate for himself.

Five minutes later my mother and I were dressed in our Sunday best, her in a classy red evening gown and me in a suit with a tie that read, "I think, therefore I am the best." My mother hand-stitched it for me.

My dad, the black sheep of the family as ever, was dressed in a tacky tuxedo. I must admit; it wasn't bad. But nobody wears tails anywhere, dad. I restrained my perfect mouth just to add a cherry on top to my niceness and followed my parents out the door and right into the square. Didn't I mention that we _own _the square? My mother IS mayor of District 8, after all. Nothing but the best for us. Even better than those in the Victor's Village.

As I kissed my mother and father goodbye and bid them farewell, I noticed how many children in the square looked like such…ragamuffins. How anyone could _stand _to be so…imperfect…was beyond me. But I must respect the poor street trash.

I sat down in my special reserved seat just before the escort tapped on the microphone to catch our attention.

_**LOGAN:**_

Benjamin Blake sat next to me, just in time, before the reaping officially began. How I despise that kid. He's filthy rich and makes sure everyone, and I mean everyone, knows it. And the inscription on his tie? Puh-lease. I almost hoped that the two of us could get picked so I could personally strangle the obnoxious brute myself.

The escort marched up to the microphone in a plain Peacekeeper Uniform, and by the looks of it, it wasn't one of the ones that we make here in 8. He could've at least worn a tie out of bathroom tiles or something if he wanted to somehow represent the district. Or a jacket out of our famous textile cloth.

"Hello, and good morning one and all to the 96th annual reaping," they said. Nothing in particular was special about our escort this year. They had plain brown hair, a plain complexion, and a blank look on their face.

_**BENJAMIN:**_

The escort stuck his average hand inside the average bowl full of average slips of paper. Well, of course mine wasn't average because it had the honor of holding my name bestowed upon it. But this guy just didn't have the taste to choose my name out of the bowl. I breathed a sigh of relief but then jolted up when I saw him hold up my name, written in chicken-scratch on a slip of paper.

"Benjamin Blake."

I smoothed my shirt out and tried to keep my composure as I climbed onto the stage.

_**LOGAN:**_

Did I mention that Benjamin makes me sick? I swear he puffed his chest out. Dude, you're ugly and nobody likes you. Cut it out. Man, I hate that kid. That was when I heard my name.

"Logan Callister."

YES! I never thought I would actually be happy to be reaped, but considering I'm being reaped alongside Benjamin, how could I refuse?

Seizing the opportunity, I shouted "Here! I'm here!"

Benjamin spun his head around to bore his beady little eyes into mine, the quick jerk of his head sending his precious hair gel into the escort's face.

But the escort just grinned and turned to Benjamin.

"Hey, can I borrow some of this stuff?"


	10. District Nine Reapings

**Chapter Ten: District Nine Reapings**

_Jason Kamik and Delaney Moore_

_**DELANEY:**_

I woke up to the sound of the grist mill next to my house, evenly pulsing each second that went by with a satisfying, muted _ker-thump, ker-thump, ker-thump, ker-WHACK!_ I bolted up from underneath my covers and padded over to the window to see what had happened to the soothing metronome. The sound had already stopped by now and many of the mill workers were crowding the scene, so I couldn't get a good view at any angle. Eventually, I grabbed my robe, pulled on my favorite slippers and tip-toed outside, careful not to wake my parents. I climbed into the tree next to our house and reclined on a branch with a perfect, panoramic view of the vista. As far as I could see, some idiot had decided to put a big rock in the mill, grinding it to a halt and breaking things up enough to put our grain industry on standby for a few days.

_**JASON:**_

Ooooh, shoot. I'm in trouble.

I didn't know what I was thinking. I just, I don't know, had a weird urge to put a rock in the mill. I couldn't stand to imagine the repercussions. I looked over the crest of the hill and saw all of the District Nine villagers racing towards the scene. _I could really go for a Go-Gurt right now, _I thought as I darted underneath someone's front porch. Crouching down, my mind continued to wander. _And maybe a cute puppy._ Through the asymmetrical pattern of the fence supports I saw the other mill workers crowded around the refinery, scratching their heads and trying to figure out what had just happened.

That was a close one.

_**DELANEY:**_

Soon the workers began to disperse back to into their normal routine. I sighed, now unable to fall back asleep, and dressed into my reaping outfit- a worn pair of tan slacks and a light purple polo shirt. Within an hour or so the house was abuzz with the usual reaping day anticipation. I quickly put a leftover slice of pizza in the microwave, and as I waited for it to cook, my mind kept turning to the mill incident.

Who did it? Is it someone I know?

The microwave let out a shrill _ding! _and I removed the pizza. Savoring every last crumb, I wiped my mouth of the grease and melted cheese and then proceeded to parade out the door with my family.

Desperate to be the first to the square in a race with my sister, I bounded down the steep, marble steps that led towards city hall. If only I jumped the last few stairs, then I could win. I threw myself into the air, my arms opened wide, welcoming the cool breeze. It made me feel like I could fly.

The last thing I saw was the dirty pavement rushing to greet my face.

Famous last words.

_**JASON:**_

I trotted into the town square with my younger brothers in tow. I wore a crisp seersucker suit, a hand-me-down from my grandmother (don't ask) and a pair of Timberland boots that I never bothered to change out of after my morning shift at the grain fields.

My family, chronically late as always, awkwardly shuffled into our seats just as the reaping began.

"Hello! Good morning!" our escort, Izzy McDowell, chirped all too cheerfully.

"Good morning sunshine," I mumbled sarcastically. "The Earth says _shut up._"

"Two of you out there are the future victors of Panem," she said. "Somewhere out there are two contenders for the 96th Annual Hunger Games. It could be you," she pointed to a nervous looking mouse-faced boy. "Or you." Her beady, hot pink eyes bore into that of countless other kids scattered across the audience.

"Now, for the male tribute." She reached her delicate, orange-tinted hand into the fishbowl and selected a slip of paper.

"Jason Kamik."

_**DELANEY:**_

I woke up in a hospital bed with a head wrap on and some sort of neck support. I went to move but was stopped by a tangle of IV cords…and my crying mother.

"Honey, I…" she gasped, then fell into a fit of sobbing.

The nurse turned to me, adjusting the rate of the IV. "Should I tell her?" She gestured to my father.

He responded with a solemn nod, and the nurse took a deep breath.

"Delaney, you…you were…"

What? I was what?

She cleared her throat.

"Reaped."

I nearly relapsed into unconsciousness but caught the determined eyes of my younger sister. She handed me a golden necklace, her most prized possession.

"You win this. For me."

And with that, they were gone.


	11. District Ten Reapings

**Chapter Eleven: District Ten Reapings**

_William Crowell and Nadia Dolan_

**A/N: This is longer than most of my chapters, but the next one is even longer. For reference, the industry of District Ten is livestock.**

_**NADIA:**_

_Where am I? I look around to find that I'm at the reaping. But wait! That's tomorrow! I'm not ready yet! When did I get here? And how? I look up and see that it's already time for the female tribute to be chosen. I close my eyes. I'm not ready yet! Though my eyes are closed I still hear my name called, a forced mispronunciation due to our escort's embellished Capitol Accent. _

"_Nadia Dolan!" _

_I feel like they're yelling in my ear. Maybe they are. And then I'm suddenly falling,__and falling, and falling…I land in the bloodbath of the arena. Tributes are rushing at me from all sides, stabbing, shooting, stabbing, shooting, stabbing, and suddenly I hear a cannon boom in the distance. I barely have enough time to realize that its mine before I black out…_

I wake up in cold sweat. I swing myself off the bed and throw on random clothes- a white hoodie and black jeans. I slip into my shoes and run out the door. I run and run and run until I make to the familiar tree at the edge of district 10. I don't stop here though. I climb up the tree, and jump from it into another one on the other side of the fence, the cuff of my jeans slightly clipping the barbed wire. I finally felt safe. I sit in my usual spot, where three moss covered branches intersect.

Breathe in,

Breathe out.

Breathe in,

Breathe out.

My heart rate slows and I am able to concentrate. That's the second time I've had that dream, the first time being yesterday. The reaping is today and I can't deny it any more, I am this year's female tribute. Being the only eligible child in the family, I had to register for fifteen tesserae, and even that barely keeps the stomach pains away. I let that soak in as I finger my mother's necklace.

It's engraved with a tree that's half white gold, half silver. I had found it in the ruins of our house, during the second revolution- the first being the Mockingjay Revolt.

I have now decided to look calm and in control when I am chosen. I won't look surprised. I think for a second that someone may volunteer, but I quickly realize that won't be the case. I don't have any friends. I don't believe in them ever since my "friend" ratted me out for stealing a Peacekeeper's gun. I was whipped on my arms and legs and I still have the scars to this day. The next day when I got back from school with my father, my house was nothing but ashes and my mother had been killed in the fire. In her hands was the tree necklace that had somehow resisted to the flames.

I got up and ran back home. My father would be worried and the last thing we wanted was trouble with the Peacekeepers again. When I get home I spot my father pacing around the front door. As soon as he sees me he runs to me and envelops me in an inescapable bear hug.

"I thought they had caught you out of the district! I was so worried. Please don't do that again!"

My father has been (though I don't blame him) somewhat paranoid with Peacekeepers ever since the fire. Though I know he means well and that he loves me, it can get annoying.

"Come on Nadia, we have to get to the reaping!"

So together we lightly jog to the reaping. I sit down in the 17 year-old section and wait for my name to be called. When the escort reaches into the bowl I have a flutter of hope that maybe, just maybe, that those dreams were just coincidental.

I glance back at my father, who already is armed with a handkerchief, and he smiles, my four younger siblings crawling all over his lap.

I snap my head back towards the stage as I see my father's face fall. My dreams are crushed; any little twinge of hope dissipates as the escort cheerfully says,

"Ms. Nadia Dolan!"

I mount the stage and, as calmly as I can, sit down with my back straight and my head held high. When the boy is chosen I am even more killed inside because it's Will, the boy I have had a crush on since forever.

(I've been trying to ignore him but it isn't working too well.)

He freezes and then I see him step on someone's foot in his rush to the platform. They wince in pain and he looks up at the stage. He looks in my direction without making eye contact, and I see his eyes soften up. He walks up and sits down next to me, placing his firm, tender hand on my knee. He squeezes it supportively as I hold back my tears- tears so continuous that no attempt to suppress them can suffice.

_**WILLIAM:**_

_One more blow and I'm done._

Ugh.

One of my blisters popped as I swung my hammer into the side of the pig pen, jolting it back into place.

I look down at my hands to asses the damage. Both my hands are covered in blisters from swinging the hammer all day long, trying in vain to fix all of the little imperfections across the farm. The blister that popped has puss running out of it. I wince and try to keep my attention off of it as I walk to the medical kit and dive my good (well not puss-covered, at least) hand into it for something sterile to clean my hand with.

In district two they would probably recommend something cleaner, but all I find is a piece of cloth that I think used to be blue but is so old it isn't any recognizable color. I decide to name this new color _'blue green red orange yellow grey mush sad excuse for a color...um...thingy.' _I smile at my little joke.

I wipe off my hand, pick up my tools and medical kit, and sprint home across the fields, hoping I'm not too late. As I walk through the door, Angie, my younger sister, runs up to me followed by my mother.

"Hurry up, Will! You promised you would allow me to dress you up for the reaping!" Says Angie as my mother rushes me into the house, up the stairs and into my room. On my bed I see a white button down shirt with a small logo of a barn and livestock the top left corner. There's a navy blue tie and a pair of black pants that are supposed to match.

"Okay, first you put those on," she says, "And then I'll try and do something about the rat's nest in your hair."

She suppresses a giggle, causing her body to rock violently, tearing at my hair.

I slip out of my clothes and throw on the shirt, tie and pants. As soon as I'm done I tell her to come in.

She takes one look at me and another I'm-trying-not-to-laugh-in-your-face sound comes out of her nose, making her sound like she's got a combination of indigestion and a sinus contagion.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

In response she points at my shirt. I look down and see that I put it on backwards. When I look back up she starts laughing, and I smile.

Her laughter is one of things that I like the most. I don't know why she always tries to hide it- but since we're on a tight schedule, I tuck my arms into my shirt and spin it around so that the front is where it should be.

Then my mom comes and tells us it's time to go. On the way we stop for a minute by the stream so my sister can rinse my hair and untangle it. I have to bend for her to reach my hair and even then she has some trouble reaching it. I'm pretty tall. As she untangles it, I see the brown strands fall in front of my eyes, only to be whisked away behind my ears.

According to my grandma, my great-great-great- well, I don't know how many 'greats'- grandfather would've called my hairstyle something called "Justin Bieber" hair.

I turn back to my little sister and notice that she has finally grown into the dress that my mother had when she was little. Last year it was way too big for her and kept on falling into a wrinkly heap at her knees, but she recently had a small growth spurt.

She then tells me to get up and we take off.

We get there right on time, and I run to the 17 year-old section and sit down next to Angel, my best friend (and possibly something more). I watch sadly as April goes to the 12 year-old section. My heart tightens up as I see her there for the first time. To calm myself I think of the fact that I refused to let her take tesserae so her name is in there only once. I, on the other hand am at a serious risk.

Before I know it they are selecting the girl tribute and some girl my age, Nadia, is chosen. I don't really know her that much; I've just seen her a couple times at school.

I then look back at the escort. With the long red hair and matching dress, she is one of the more normal escorts. (Which isn't saying much.) Her hand dives into the bowl and fumbles around before pulling out the piece of paper.

"William Crowell!" she screams.

For a moment I feel sorry for the guy that was picked, and silently wish him luck.

Then I realize that it was me.

I freeze in my seat as the whole world seems to slow down. I think of April and how she will take this. And then I realize I know exactly how she will take this.

_She will volunteer._

Without thinking, I get up and "accidently" step on someone's foot. With my size, I'm pretty sure it really hurts and I'm rewarded with an "OOOUUUCH!"

I look to the front in April's direction and see her mouth moving , her hand bolting up as she attempts to volunteer. But my distraction was enough and no one hears her. I walk to the podium and await the end of the ceremony…

I walk to the stage slowly, thinking of what my strengths are. I'm well muscled because of the fact I'm a farmhand. I can (obviously) use anything that you can wield, and I can use a knife decently. Though this isn't enough for me to win the games, it reassures me enough to not freeze up again until I make it through the goodbyes and into the train.


	12. District Eleven Reapings

**Chapter Twelve: District Eleven Reapings**

_Cole LaRusse and Elizabeth "Lizzie" Arden_

_**LIZZIE:**_

It has been six years since I first could not sleep with nightmares. Six years since I have stood still in the town square as time froze. Six years since the first time I stood watching people I knew volunteer never to return. It is my last reaping. And I intend to make it home tonight alive and safe.

The sun is shining through my fairly dirty window, which casts a brownish gold glare over my face. I slowly open my eyes and see my younger sister Charlotte laying in her bed parallel to mine. She is able to sleep carelessly, without dreams of death and blood. At least for another year. She is eleven and thus, exempt from the reaping. I can only imagine the stress it causes my mother each year as we anticipate the girl's name being drawn from the reaping balls. Being from District 11, we have to worry about people who don't want to go to the Capitol. We have to prepare for the sheer grief of seeing the selected tributes mourn, the terror on their faces, the cries of heartbreak from their families.

When I was thirteen, I was reaped. I remember the feeling as though it were only yesterday. It feels as though your heart stops beating. The whole world around you stops, and you can only hear the sound of your own breath. Your ominous heartbeat fills your ears until you want to crawl into a fetal position on the floor. Each step to the stage is a mile and takes your breath away. Staring out into the audience is like standing at the gallows, being shown before the entire country. Then our escort, whoever it may be, asks for volunteers. This one question is your saving grace in a cruel world. But being from District 11, there is little or no chance of there being anyone willing to go in your place. When that girl stepped forward to take my place all those years ago, it felt as though the world was lifted off my shoulders. Reaping day is both a day for happiness and to be distraught.

I sit up and smile at my sleeping sister. My perfect sister. She looks innocent and fragile as she lays there, defenseless. I continue to let her sleep for a little while longer, and get up to take a shower. I undress, turn on the water, and climb into the steaming hot water, letting it engulf me. I stand there for a few minutes before cleaning myself off, and climbing out. I wrap my towel around my waist and head back towards my room. Taking advantage of my sister sleeping on, I quickly get dressed. I walk over to mirror and examine myself. Reaping attire. I have on a faded yellow polo that has a hole on its left sleeve that I used to wear to work in the orchards. My mother said that it was once my grandmothers. I also wear a pair of khakis that were just an inch too short and reveal my ankles. I look ridiculous.

Now I take my attention to my face. My soft black hair falls gently off to one side out of my hard icy blue eyes. I don't know why, but girls are always following me, saying I am good looking. All of those cookie-cutter District 11 guys, trying too hard to impress us girls by being 'rugged' or 'hardcore.' They aren't for me. All I need in life is a best friend, and I've got one. Her name is Opal. She can only be described as carefree, spunky, and perfect.

She is a few months younger than I am, she has long, punk-anime style brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and loves being rambunctious and free. I remember when I first met her. It was my first day in the orchards, and it was my job to help harvest the ground fruits, like strawberries. When the day was almost over, I remember the supervisor criticizing a young girls' work saying that her pick wasn't clean enough for the Capitol. Opal started yelling at him, swearing her face off, and all I can remember is my sheer astonishment. That, and that she had quite the backbone. That was the first time I ever encountered Opal Cérez.

Obviously over the years, we have become friends and very close to one another. She has come over several times, and this has been her second home. She has always been different. Like all girls in our district, including myself, she sees no purpose in her looks and does nothing to flaunt them. But she's different somehow.

After staring into the mirror aimlessly, I see Charlotte beginning to stir. I turn around and walk over to her bed.

" Good morning Charlie," I say in a sweet voice. Slowly she opens her eyes to reveal a shock of electric blue. She beams at me.

"Good morning big sister," She says in her high-pitched toddler voice. Charlotte may act very mature for her age, but she looks anything but. She throws the bedspread off her small body and stands up. "Today is your last time big sister." She says with a smile.

Big sister? _Seriously?_ I shook the thoughts out of my head and looked at her sadly.

She knew from a very early age what the Hunger Games were and what happened to the boy and girl that disappeared each year. I think she was five. Far more mature than I ever was. She has a pure soul, and it seems to rub off on everyone in a mile radius of her.

I try to put on a happy face for her sake, but its more of a grimace than anything. "I know Charlotte." Honestly I hate the reaping and the fact that I might not come home tonight to see my little sister. To watch her grow up to a young woman and have kids of her own. So many things I might not be able to see my little sis do.

"I'm just ready for it to be all over. Now, why don't we get you dressed and fed? We have a big day ahead of us. "

I walk over to her closet and open the doors. I look over her dresses until I find a small baby blue one that will go perfectly with her eyes. I unhook the dress and help her put it on. I step back to examine it. It's a little torn around the shoulder, but nothing too noticeable. "It's perfect," I say. Plus, it smells like tangerines. Mmm.

We head downstairs and see mom with her head resting on the table, a bottle of liquor in one hand. She has been drinking. My mother has always had trouble with stress. Each year for the reaping she drinks herself into oblivion. Most of the times we just let her drink. When dad passed away, she drank, when my first reaping happened, she drank, and now she is drinking again. Why can't she resort to something more healthy?

(cough cough) Like tangerines? (cough)

I look at poor Charlie, who knows instinctively what is going on, and tries to revive my hung over mom. "Mommy, wake up." She says repeatedly in a soft voice. After a few minutes of no success, she gives up and goes to fix herself some breakfast.

I look out of our dirty window and see a figure moving towards our front door. Suddenly the door swings open and the figure walks in.

"Happy Reaping Day!" Opal sings as she walks into the kitchen. She is always so optimistic.

She mocks our escort Dandra Fullen in her high pitched Capitol Accent, picking up Charlotte and spinning her around.

"G'mornin', sugah," she says gleefully, over enunciating.

Opal lets Charlotte return to her waffles and puts on a huge smile, revealing her perfect white teeth. I can see Charlotte out of the corner of my eye barely resisting laughing. Opal sees this and rushes behind her.

"And how is my favorite non-little sister doing on this horrible morning?" She asks sarcastically.

Charlie and Opal hit it off from the moment that they first met each other a few years ago. Charlotte loves Opal like a second big sister, and Opal will do anything to protect her. If Charlotte got reaped and Opal was able, Opal would volunteer in a heartbeat. I know I would.

"Good morning to you too," I say in a very sarcastic voice.

"Oh shut it" She says, "Its not like we are gonna be reaped today. I heard a few boys at school saying how much they can't wait to get into this year's arena. And to think that this is eleven."

That's the thing with District 11, you think it's beautiful and all love and rainbows (and don't forget the tangerines!), but there are a few stand-out blood thirsty people that no doubt have Capitol ancestry.

"I just hope we don't get reaped. Period!" I say. Opal and Charlotte nod their heads in assertion. No good can ever come of the reaping. Except winning, of course. But even with that comes too much sacrifice.

We finish eating our breakfast and start to head towards the town square. District 11 is filled with little shops that take our mind off of our, frankly, bland customs. But the main feature of the District is the yellow coble stone streets and blue flowing fountains that all eventually reach the Center Fountain. It is a huge ornate fountain inlaid with gold and silver and gems of all colors, giving it a full rainbow effect. Each gem is designed to look like a different fruit. Everyone always marvels at the size and creativity it took to make such a stunning landmark, and once the President even offered to 'take it off our hands.'

To the north of the fountain, the groups have already formed by age. 17 year olds in the front, and 12 year olds in the back. Being 17, I worm my way in through the crowd and take a spot.

After about ten minutes, the anthem slowly begins the rise up out of the speakers surrounding us. Everyone that was talking slowly begins to silent themselves out of the traditional respect. A few minutes later, the anthem finishes and the Mayor of District 11 steps forward and starts giving his traditional speech about the history of Panem. Don't they ever think of something new to say?

After about ten minutes of him rearing on about the Dark Days and how the Hunger Games came to be, he wraps up and takes his place with the Victors lining the back off the stage. We have had three Victors in the history of District 11, the most recent was Sonic Gershwin, who killed all the Careers on the first day and hunted down each tribute by the third day. He was a powerhouse.

And he lived around eighty years ago.

Up steps our bubbly escort, who I swear makes me want to puke, Dandra Fullen. She is a short woman with bright blue hair, purple skin, and is wearing a canary yellow dress with orange shoes. It is a disaster; she looks like District 8 threw up on her, then tried to cover it up with some sort of dye.

"Goooooood Morning District 11!" She sings into the microphone. She is just to dandy. "Now are we ready to have another Victor from your District this year? What would it be? Your fourth?" The audience collectively groans, while others just mumble in agreement. "Now in all seriousness, lets get started shall we? Lets start with a gentleman today." She marches over the bowl marked girls, and digs her hand deep into it before seizing a slip of paper and pulling it out. There is a possibility that one of my eight slips is in her hand. But I refuse to think about it.

She walks back to the podium before reading the first name, "And your first tribute is, Elizabeth Arden!"

_**COLE:**_

Ah, what another beautiful day, after such a perfect night with such splendid dreams. I dreamt about the day I brutally killed my little innocent sister. Such fond memories. The feel of the knife in my hand as I suck up behind her unaware self. Her screams as I slowly slid the knife across her neck. Not deep enough to kill, but to cause enough pain to silence her. Knocking her down, breaking her little fingers one by one, then cutting each one off. Watching the blood pool around her body was a sight to behold. Then, slicing open her torso and removing each organ one at a time, until all that was left was her heart, barely able to keep racing a head for its final beats. That's when I cut it out, and threw it as far as I could. To make sure I wasn't caught, I cleaned up, placed all of her organs back inside her body, washed the blood off the ground, and carried her away. Then to add a trademark incase she ever was found, I carved a small heart into her arm, and used her blood to cover my lips before kissing her cheek, leaving a red bloodstain.

Oh how much fun that was. And for what purpose? Learning what it really was like to kill, for practice, really, and do it for a show, the biggest show in Panem. The Hunger Games. Oh, how I will give the people in the Capitol quite a show. And the best part, today is the day of the reaping. What fun it will be to watch those poor tributes die painfully at my own hands. I sit up and look around my bright green room. I climb out of bed, and get dressed in a crisp suit and tie with a red silk ribbon as a sash around my waist. By now I look like a bullfighter. Perfect. Can I hear an _Olé?_

I open my bedroom door, and start to strut down the hallway. I am almost to the stairs when I run into my older brother Rick. He is nothing like I am. Well, he was before Natalie was killed. Oops, I meant 'tragically died.' To cope with her death, he now has pitch black dyed hair, wears black eyeliner, and cuts his wrists, renaming himself Wynter. I believe the correct term to describe him is emo.

"Oh, good morning, brother," I say as cheerfully as I can. He has never bought into my façade, and thinks that I killed Natalie. Of course he is correct.

"Good morning to you too. Did you sleep well in that messed up, bloodthirsty head of yours?" He responds quite matter-of-factly. He puts on a fake smile in those pitch black lips of his. He looks like a giant bruise. I wince.

"Why big brother," I say, "How could you accuse me of such horrible things? I am nothing but a young, adolescent boy. I can't even kill a fly." I try to put as much virtuousness into my voice as I can, but its no use. He sees the devil behind my crisply spiked hair.

I return my appearance to its normal young-schoolboy appeal, and turn and return to trotting down the hallway. I arrive in the kitchen and am greeted with the fresh smell of cooked grapefruit leaves. Dad is sitting at the table with a newspaper and a cup of coffee. I have never understood the purpose of coffee. Its too bitter and disgusting. But I ignore the sensible part of my brain and continue strutting, showing off my best male-swimsuit model looks before plopping myself down in the plush chair next to my father.

"Good morning Daddy," I say in my sweet innocent voice.

"Good morning," He responds with a big smile. After mom passed away from grief when Natalie disappeared, I have become all he lives for. I'm Daddy's favorite, and, well, Wynter is just another mouth to feed. He has always thought Rick…Wynter, I mean… is a disgrace. Wasting his money on black things rather than spending it like any normal citizen. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Perfect, father," I respond with a smile, "But I woke up with a nightmare about the reaping," I put my head down in fear. I try to make it sound like I am terrified of the reapings and the Games to please my dad. But unlike most boys in District 11, I can't wait for the chance to get inside the arena. This is going to be my year as Victor, and I am going to volunteer. Hopefully father dearest respects my decisions.

"Don't you worry about a thing," he says with his slight southern twang. "You're not going to get picked. Why would the Capitol want to kill someone as perfect as you?" I love my Dad, but oh is he naïve.

"Thanks Daddy." I respond. "I need to get going or I will be late. I love you!"

I manage to hear him say "I love you too" as I go skipping out the door. I make sure my outfit looks perfect, and I continue towards the Center Fountain in the town square. I quickly put my hand in my pocket and feel the knife I always keep with me at all times. It's pretty much my signature weapon. When I get into the arena, I want my mentors to send in this particular knife for me.

If they don't, well, let's just say Natalie will have some company upstairs.

I have had it for as long as I can remember and it is the same weapon I used to murder my little sister. I want to have more blood stain its cruel steel blade. I pull it out and examine it. It has a soft mangrove handle that has been painted black. Every couple inches, a small intricate design of a grapevine is inlaid in the handle. The blade is about five inches in length and has a slight curve that adds to the fear. In the hilt of the blade is an amethyst stone with a floral cut. Beautiful yet deadly, a powerful combination.

I conceal the knife back inside of its pocket on the inside of my sleeve and head towards the reaping. I get there and see that I am already late. I quickly slip into the seventeen's roping. A few of the girls give me a look of distaste. But one girl comes over and stands directly next to me. She is my best friend, Allonna.

"Hey," She says to me, "You look great!" She scans my body and sees my outfit.

"Thanks. You do too."

She is wearing a pumpkin orange dress with white lace at her collar. She looks ridiculous, but I have to be nice because she is my best friend. Allonna has been my best friend since we were two - at the earliest. She has always been my friend through my personality, which no other girls understand.

"I think I am going to volun- oh, too late," She says while flipping back a strand of brown hair out of her eyes. She looks up at the stage and I don't notice that they have already reaped the girls.

"That's awesome," I tell her, "Just don't get hurt while volunteering," I say with complete seriousness. I am going into the Games this year, not Allonna. Even if I must hurt her to get in and keep her safe I will. Allonna has trained her whole life for the Games, and now I am going to wash all of those efforts right down the drain. I can't resist smiling.

"What are you laughing at?" She asks. "It's too late to volunteer anyway."

"Oh," I say as innocently as possible. After the female tribute gets up onto the stage and introduces himself almost inaudibly, Dandra Fullen asks for volunteers for the boys. One boy out of nowhere bursts onto the stage and immediately claims one spot. Darn it I think, I need that next spot. As a seventeen year old, I should be swearing, but those words are just too vile. Just then, I see Allonna sprinting forward towards the stage to volunteer. I sprint after her, and draw my knife. I hold it by its blade in a throwing position and throw it deep into her right thigh. She quickly falls to the ground, not expecting the sudden pain in her leg. This gives me my window.

"Sorry, Allonna. But I believe this is for guys, only."

I slow my run into a skip, and once near the stage, I sing in a loud clear, manly voice, "I volunteer!"

"Oh splendid!" Dandra shouts in excitement. "Now come up here on stage and tell us your name."

I make my way up the stairs on the stage and take the microphone.

"Cole LaRusse, with a silent 'e'! And I am District 11's next Victor!" I find that I continue to sing with glee, which causes me to maniacally laugh. A few of the girls shoot me disapproving looks, and I can se Allonna glaring at me through her tears. This is going to be fun hour.

I did it. I actually got the nerve to volunteer for the Hunger Games! I am so excited. I have trained my entire life for this. Silently, subtly, but still trained. I've battled the trainers (fine, my imaginary friends) practiced my knife-slashing skills in the orchards, and now it is my time. My time to become famous and win the Games for my District.

After the reaping's and my volunteering, we as the tributes were escorted into our own designated rooms for us to say goodbyes to our families. Of course, I said goodbye to all my friends last night, knowing that not all of them could come and say goodbye to me in here. We went our separate ways their and the next time they will see me is when I come home, crowned Victor of the 96th Hunger Games.

The Peacekeeper guides me to a large room with a crimson fabric everywhere I look. I can't help but think they designed it to mimic the color of blood. After taking a seat I lounge back, waiting for my family to come in. Slowly, my father and Wynter enter. Winter is busily chipping away at a vein on his inner elbow and grins devilishly at the sight of all the crimson décor.

My dad walks over, holding back tears, and whispers an 'I love you' or two in between hugs.

"Thanks dad, " I say. "I couldn't do it without you. And I am really going to miss you two."

"It's not too late. There were other volunteers, you know. They could always fill your place."

" I know, dad, but I will have Pixel as my mentor. You know she will do fine and help me get home." Pixel is the Victor from the fourth annual games many years ago. She stayed completely sane throughout the Games and still hasn't resorted to any sort of drug or anything for that matter- except for immortality, which she opted for instead of living in Victor's Village and becoming rich. She is as healthy as a Victor can be.

"Yes she will be," my dad says, "Or it will be the last thing she ever does!" He nervously laughs, obviously still put out that I volunteered, and gives me a wink. I stand up and walk over to my brother, wincing, and give him a hug.

"I love you," Wynter whispers in my ear. The words are hardly even out of his mouth when the Peacekeeper announces that it is time for them to go. I hold onto the only piece of home them for just second longer and then let go. "I will see you to when I get back I say."

"I will miss you!" they manage to say before the Peacekeeper slams the door in their way. Once they are gone, I don't receive any more visitors. I honestly didn't expect any. I take a seat back on the chair and put my hand into my pocket. I pull out my token. It is a small silver charm bracelet. The one my dad gave me for my birthday when I was four. I hold it close to my heart as a reminder that I am going to miss this place while I am gone. I then slide it around my wrist and wit for when I am summoned to head towards the train that will take me to the Capitol.


	13. District Twelve Reapings

**Chapter Thirteen: District Twelve Reapings**

_Jonathan Neese and Celia Douglas_

**A/N: This chapter is going to seem REALLY short compared to the last two (even though it is the longest of all the others, exactly 1000 words…) but I'm, like, **_**super **_**excited because THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER UNTIL TRAINING! I don't want to keep you guys, or myself, for that matter, waiting :) **

**Here we go!**

_**CELIA:**_

"_Forever and always, you'll be gone. Forever and always, your face has no life. In this world, you have to think twi-ice. _

_Twi-i-i-ice. _

_Nothing can't be nothing, it can never be said. Forever is something, because you'll always be dead_,"

I sing. I love singing. I'm not too bad at it, either. But those lyrics _were _a bit sappy…

My little sister, Felicity, bounces into my room.

"You have to start getting ready, Celia," she says. "Sillia and Mom are already waiting at the door."

"Okay," I say. Felicity walks out of the room.

I put my long, curly black hair into a side bun, and wash my lightly tanned skin. I look in the mirror, and my blue eyes that are flecked with silver stare back at me with a twinge of confidence and hope.

I put on a strappy top, jeans, and some combat boots. I don't have anything to do, so I decide to sing some more.

I've been singing for about half an hour when Sillia, my other sister, calls, "Celia, time for the Reaping!"

I rush over to where my family stands, and together we bundle up and venture outside, heading down the road with all of our neighbors. Our worn loafers kick up clouds of dust and the whole place looks like...well, you can't see _anything,_ it's all so covered in dust.

At the Reaping, I sit in the thirteen-year-old section with my friends, Ansleigh, Ebony, and Inez.

Lena Ringlet, District 12's escort, walks up to the podium.

"Hello, District 12! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" she shouts, her purple hair falling to her knees, and her hot pink skin kind of…scaring me.

"Ladies first!" Lena shouts, and picks up a slip from bottom of the girls' Reaping ball.

"Celia Douglas!"

There's silence. After a moment, I slowly start walking to the stage. One of my friends will volunteer, won't they? I glance at them, and they are looking down, avoiding my looks at all costs.

Oh, so they'd rather have me die than them? They're such little scaredy cats, and they think their lives are more worth saving than mine? I feel like punching someone. Hard.

_**JONATHAN:**_

"I love strawberry-picking. They're so juicy and red. They have their seeds on the outside, too. Did you know that? And they can be used for hundreds of purposes," Amilee says.

Amilee is my twelve-year-old best friend-not-girlfriend. She likes to ramble on and on.

"Yes, I know, Amilee," I say.

There is an awkward silence.

"I have to go," she says suddenly, and scurries over to the direction of her house. I have nothing else to do, so I go to my home.

"Hello, Jon," Grandma greets me. My parents are…um, dead, so my grandma takes care of me.

"Hi, Grandma. I'm going to get ready for the Reaping, okay?" I say.

"Sure," Grandma replies. I walk to my room, and throw on a fresh pair of clothes.

Too soon, it's time for the Reaping. Grandma and I slowly walk down to the Town Hall, and before I have to go to my area, she tells me, "I hope you're safe," and then walks away.

I sit in the seventeen-year-old section, and spot Amilee in the cluster of a section of twelve-year-olds.

Our bubbly escort, Lina, dances onto the stage in ridiculous high heels that appear to be made out of little stuffed pandas.

After the History of the Games explained by our mayor, Lena Ringlet says, "Ladies first!" as always, and pulls a slip out of the girls' Reaping ball.

I hope it isn't Amilee.

"Celia Douglas!" Lena announces. A girl stands up in the thirteen-year-old section, and slowly walks towards the stage. She glances at her 'friends' a couple times, but the girls are looking away from her. The girl, Celia, seems mad now.

Nobody volunteers for her.

I feel a little bit bad for the girl, because she's only thirteen. But soon Lena is selecting a slip of paper from the boys' Reaping ball and I have no choice but to redirect my attention.

"Jonathan Neese!"

I sigh, and take my place next to Celia.

_**CELIA:**_

I suppose I should've been anticipating this. I _did_ put in more tesserae than anyone else in the District 12.

Was it worth it?

Yes. I do think it was. I just hope mother, Sillia, and Felicity will get by. I come up to the stage with confidence.

First step. Just smile.

Second step. Mother, Sillia, and Felicity will be fine.

Third step. Even if I don't survive, at least they will. I hope.

Fourth step. Goodbye, Seam.

Fifth step. Don't notice the boy being called.

Sixth step. Don't care.

The escort presses her blue lips together and wears a broken smile.

"District 12, this year's tributes!"

I nod to the silent crowd, trying to avoid looking at Sillia and Felicity who are bawling in the back, burrowed in my mother's apron.

The escort offers me the microphone. I don't take it. What would I say? That I'm going to win? Because we all know I'm not.

As I'm directed to the train, I glance back at District 12. The district I'll never again see. I'll miss the Seam, and the Hob. Goodbye.

Memories flood into my mind… scaling the fence to the woods with Ansleigh and Inez.

After school study group with Ebony.

Sewing dolls for Felicity and racing Sillia to school.

Is it all gone? Will this never again happen?

Well, I guess that's for the Hunger Games to decide.


	14. Bloodbaths, Betrayals, and Bad Actors

**Chapter Fourteen: Bloodbaths, Betrayals, and Bad Actors**

_POVs Celia Douglas_

**A/N: I was really anxious to get to the Games, so I'm writing that first, and then I'm going to go back to the Chariots and Training and all that junk…**

_**CELIA:**_

I'm standing on the cold metal plate armed only with instinct, combat boots and the clothes on my back. My jaw is tense and I'm jittery with nervous anticipation. I can barely think straight- I'm more thinking…left? Right?

What the heck? You can't _think _in different directions!

I'm sunk.

My stomach growls and I wish I had eaten just one more energy bar at breakfast. My legs begin to wobble and I fear that I may collapse. Supportively, my mentor taps the glass tube I'm standing in and gives be a shaky thumbs-up. I half-heartedly smile back as my adrenaline threatens to pull me unconscious. Beads of sweat pour down from my brow to the time of my pulsing veins.

Suddenly there is a groan of metal. My mentor mouths something that I can't quite make out before I am raised into the blinding sunlight of the arena. I barely have enough time to take in my surroundings before the horn blows.

I instantly run straight towards the Cornucopia. I see a dagger wedged into the ground and reach down to grab it…

BOOM! I hear and explosion and later the solemn blast of a cannon.

Not even thirty seconds in, already a life has been lost.

As I stoop to pick up the dagger, I hear an arrow whistle pass my ear and lodge itself in the chest of Cole LaRusse. He slumps to the ground and I quickly grab his pack, which contains a small tarp, a First Aid kit, some oats and dried fruit, and a thin blanket.

Then suddenly a brilliant idea hits me.

I swipe some blood from Cole's chest wound and strategically rub it onto my stomach, bulging my eyes and pretending to wince in pain. I flop my head onto the ground, trying as hard as I can to appear deceased. I then silently watch in horror as I take in the arena.

Just behind the gleaming, silver Cornucopia stands a sheet cliff face. There are a few trees here and there, but it is obvious that you must scale it. I try not to watch as William Crowell is shot down by a spear, vulnerable as ever on the edge of the rock.

Anyone climbing is a target waiting to be shot at.

Trying to clear my head, I wait until everyone has reached the top and are out of sight until I arise. The last thing I need is being accidentally picked up by the hovercraft.

"Now for the _good _stuff," I think. I make my way inside the cornucopia and rummage through all of the materials. I pick up a belt loop for my dagger, ditch Cole's bloody pack for a better stocked one, grab a rope and harness for climbing the cliff and finally a shield.

I'm tempted to just stay at the Cornucopia and kill people off as they return for supplies- but they all think I'm dead. If all of a sudden one of their alliances doesn't return from a supply trip, they'll know something is up, that someone is down there.

I'd be as good as dead within hours.

Just as I step out of the Cornucopia and click the last latch on my harness, I hear a sad whimper. I realize, after walking around to the back of the 'Copia, that it's coming from Delaney Moore, the 12 year old from nine.

I call out to her and she, startled, attempts to strike me with her bow and arrow, but cannot muster the strengths. She lets out a grunt and slumps to the ground.

I rush over to her and gently caress her bleeding forehead.

"There, there," I whisper motherly. "It's alright. You okay?" I ask, genuinely concerned.

"I'll- I'll manage," she replies, but it's obvious that she is in serious condition.

"Are you sure?" I ask dubiously. There is a long pause before Delaney smiles tiredly and chuckles, coughing up blood.

"Not exactly."

I now realize that I'll have to stay down here until Delaney recovers. I can't just leave her here. Although nothing has been said, it's as if we have some sort of unspoken alliance.

I pick the frail girl up. Her breathing is shallow, and she is losing blood quickly. Her face is starting to turn a light indigo color. Laying her down atop a pile of sleeping bags deep inside the Cornucopia, I soon get to work on fixing her up.

I apply some sort of cream-like substance I found inside a medical kit to her numerous wounds. Her face turns from blue to white to eventually pale pink as the pain subsides.

"D-Delaney?" I ask, moving in closer.

"Yeah?" She answers weakly.

"Who- who did this to you?" I stammer, gesturing towards her numerous stabs.

"Oh," she relaxes nervously. "That was Mint, Mint Spite."

"From one?"

"Yeah."

Delaney sighs and closes her eyes, then reopens them, a sudden gleam of hopefulness abound.

"So, does this mean we have…we have…"

"What?"

"An alliance?" She mumbles, backing away just in case I choose to testify.

"Of course! I thought you'd never ask."

With that, we fall asleep to the lovely drone of shrieks and yells from the continued bloodbath above.


	15. Over the Crest of the Hill

**Chapter Fifteen: Over the Crest of the Hill**

_POVs Ivy Spitfire_

_**IVY:**_

Nearly as soon as I reached the cliff summit after that long and gruesome climb, I ran off into the forbidding woods to set up some sort of shelter.

By now the bloodbaths both atop the cliff and down at the 'Copia have subsided for the night, and before long the ecstatic face of Norman Threshold illuminates the sky.

"Good evening, tributes! Congrats to the 21 of you who have made it through the first day here at the arena. Now, as the night comes to a close, let us express our utmost condolences to those who have lost their lives."

Suddenly Norman's evilly giddy face morphs into that of a young Asian boy, probably around age twelve or thirteen. It takes a while for me to recognize him as Samson Chung, that kid from Four who kept blabbing about all the different species of crayfish during training. A clip of his reaping moves across the sky as Norman narrates.

"Samson was a 13 year old tribute full of drive and compassion. But he was not new to the games. Last year, Chung, who enjoyed chess and reading, was also reaped and watched his sister Olivia, who volunteered for him, go on to win the 95th Hunger Games. Unfortunately, her selfish fame turned her against her brothers, forcing them to remain in their desolate orphanage. Samson was killed shortly after the start of games after he remained on his plate too long, causing it to automatically detonate and blow him into little bits and pieces. Poor, poor Samson. Now let's hear it for him!"

I hear the audience's cheers and shouts in the distance as the photo slowly dissipates to reveal the face of Cole LaRusse, the 16 year old from ten whom I had promised an alliance with.

"Cole was a determined young lad hailing from ten who never ceased to amaze the eyes of Panem. With a great show at the reapings, Cole proved that he was a force to be reckoned with. An avid mountain biker, Cole was described by his friends and family as skillful and wise. Extremely mature and philosophical for his ripe age, Cole will be missed. Considering his uncanny skills with a mace and a spectacular score of nine in training, Cole's death was a real shocker. All my sympathy to the LaRusse family."

More heartfelt clapping.

Suddenly my heartbeat blocks my audial passages. I know who is next. It's William Crowell, the agile and quick 15 year old from eleven.

My cousin.

Whom _I _killed.

Sure enough, his ugly, gawking face fills the sky, and a clip of his 30 foot fall off of the cliff plays over and over as Threshold reads aloud.

"William Crawford came to- sorry, Crowell- compete in the games alongside his younger cousin, 13 year old Ivy Spitfire. After scoring a mediocre score of six in training, Crowell planned to stay under the radar. He was unfortunately killed by a spear to the base of his spine while scaling the cliff. Not much to say here. Now can we hear it for Will?"

I groan and roll over onto my side, covering myself with more brush. I devour a bag of dried cranberries and adjust my pine-needle pillow so that the needles aren't digging into my ear…as much.

Soon I'm ready for bed. I roll over once more, trying to get as comfortable as one can on the floor of bleak woods.

Closing my eyes, I prepare to take a trip to dreamland…

When I see my house.


End file.
